Multifandom Drabbles
by Winter Ashby
Summary: NOT A CROSSOVER! Multifandom drabble requests. Samurai 7, Bleach, Harry Potter, FMA, X Men, Ouran Host, Beyblade, Roswell, Firefly, Naruto, Twilgiht, Narnia ect... Various Ratings, Categories, Pairings & Summaries for each drabble listed inside
1. Samurai 7 Kyuzo&Kambei Regrets

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

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**Requester:** samuraiko  
**Fandom: **Samurai 7  
**Pairing:** Kambei & Kyuzo (non-romantic)**  
Word/Situation:** "Regrets"**  
Mood/Theme: **Somber  
**Approximate Timeline: **Episode 22 (Firefly House. Post Kyuzo joining, secret plot revealed)  
**Other:** hint of AU with mild allusions of Nasami

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**Title: **Regrets**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer: **Samurai 7 © GONZO (based on _Seven Samurai_ © Akira Kurosawa)  
**Rating: **PG  
**Word Count: **500 - exactly!  
**Summary: **(NOT YAOI) Kyuzo and Kambei have a short conversation before they set off. (Kyuzo & Kambei) Platonic  
**Authors Notes: **I tried to get a tiny reference in about Nasami (this is samuraiko's OC from her fic The Sword of the Soul). I don't know if you'll catch it or not. Oh well, I hope you like it Michelle!

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The enduring scent of tea and sweet bean curd swirled through the flowers in the small courtyard and wound its way up the small stream. Beneath the floorboards Kyuzo's feet rested on, he could hear the faint slashing of the coy that circled endlessly, restlessly. 

Everyone had gone to bed. He could hear low, rhythmic breathing from behind the thin screen and smooth wooden sliders. In the relative silence, soft footfalls echoed from the other side of the teahouse.

"What do you want?" Kyuzo didn't turn around. He stood with his back to the main hall, facing the courtyard. The lanterns set at the four corners of the outdoor space cast long, angled shadows over his face.

"We leave at sunrise." Kambei's deep, even voice rumbled in the darkness. Dawn was still a few hours off, but the warm scent of rice patties to the east drifted through the open courtyard.

"Hn." Kyuzo nodded once, his eyes closed.

"Will you follow this through, to the end?" Kambei lowered his hand from the hilt of his sword, where habit predicted it would be, to lay flat against the white fabric of his scarf. His white gloves caught on the silk as it rustled in the midnight breeze.

"Of course." Kyuzo opened his eyes, at last, the red and hinting at anger as he glanced over his shoulder, his face still hidden. He had no regrets when it came to this.

"You would follow us, even though it meant being hunted?" Kambei crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against one of the wooden railings. His long, dark hair fell like curtains, framing his face against the flickering lantern light to his left. "For her?"

"No." Kyuzo pushed off, away from Kambei's overbearing white cloak and insights. "For a chance to kill you."

"I won't die so easily." It was an open-ended challenge, a threat that would stand as long as it needed to. Kambei turned his face away from the light, the ghost of a smiled quirked at the corners of his lips.

"Nor will I." Kyuzo remarked coolly before he vanished around the far end of the courtyard wall, back away from the dawning day and the journey that lay ahead of them. His long bangs fell to cover his eyes, where the remnants of a promise lingered in his gaze.

It was an invitation, an extension of the sword, to fight, side by side. Kyuzo would earn his chance for a rematch, evenly pitted, to the death. And every time Kambei asked 'why' and Kyuzo responded 'so I can be the one to kill you' a pact was formed, shaped, molded into the trappings of a great alliance. It was a samurai treaty, to fight and win so he could live to fight another day. Not for rice, or glory, but for the ultimate challenge.

Kyuzo clenched his twin swords and greeted the new day slicing sky and wind, trying to convince himself that he wasn't having _fun_.


	2. Samurai 7 Kirara&Kyuuzo The Quiet

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

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**Requester:** infi(underscore)inficio**  
Fandom: **Samurai 7**  
Pairing:** Kirara & Kyuuzo**  
Word/Situation:** a small chat**  
Mood/Theme: **Serious**  
Approximate Timeline: **Episode 12 (in preparation of fighting the Nobuseri in the village)**  
Other:** none

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**Title: **The Quiet**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer: **Samurai 7 © GONZO (based on _Seven Samurai_ © Akira Kurosawa)  
**Rating: **PG  
**Word Count: **500 - exactly!  
**Summary: **Kirara is caught following Kyuuzo (Kirara & Kyuuzo)  
**Authors Notes: **Kyuuzo sucks! That's about it. I hope you like it Infi, I tried to make them have a conversation.

* * *

Kirara watched Kyuuzo closely in her village. Her sherry eyes followed his flaxen hair weave through the trees between the cliff overhang and the water shrine tucked deep in the forest. 

She almost fooled herself into believing that she'd hidden her presence from him. Until she found herself face-to-blade with one of his twin swords.

Pink-cheeked and breathless, she stumbled back from the glinting metal and fell, with a resounding, graceless _thud_ to the cold, hard earth. "Wh-what's the meaning of this?" She did her best to sound indignant as she desperately pulled at the hemline of her skirt and prayed he hadn't seen anything.

"You were stalking me." He commented slowly and withdrew his blade, slinking it back into its shared sheath.

"I most certainly was not!" she flushed. "This is my village, and as it just so happens, I was on my way to the water shrine." She pointed with a shaking hand at the distant outline of a small building amongst the trees.

"No doubt." He turned from her, the cold shoulder rustling the breeze through the trees.

She stood, and straightened her clothes and extended her stride so that she was only slightly behind him as they walked through the trees. "Why do you seek the shrine?" she asked, already fingering the pendant around her wrist, without realizing it.

"The quiet," he answered, never looking back.

Kirara stopped, her feet planted against the dirt, immovable. Long since before she became a shrine maiden, she would visit the small hut during long summer days when the din of a peasant's life became too much to take. And she would find solace in the gurgling stream, and the soothing presence of water, flowing through the earth like veins.

She watched his back retreating. He didn't seem to be the least bit concerned that she was not longer trailing along behind him.

"I don't understand you." She said, finally, twisting her fingers together around her sacred pendant. "You came because you want to kill Kambei-sama not because you care what happens to Kanna and yet, you protected me. You didn't have to; I wasn't even nice to you." A faint light had begun to show in the darkness, it came from between her cupped hands.

"Why does your charm glow?"

She looked up to find him facing her, only a few feet away.

"I-I don't know." She blushed in the darkness.

"When you understand that, then you will understand why I came." As vague as ever, he turned again and walked into the darkness. She stood there for a while, trying to understand what he meant. But as the blue light emanating from her hands grew stronger, she recalled what he said as they traveled.

_Some things don't need to be said._

If he had chosen to speak, then she knew it was important. Because even if she didn't understand anything else about him, she knew, at least, that when he chose to speak, she should chose to listen.


	3. Bleach Renji&Orihime Recovery

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

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**Requester:** SpiritualEnergy**  
Fandom: **Bleach**  
Pairing:** Renji & Orihime**  
Word/Situation:** wandering/watchful**  
Mood/Theme: **Silly/Frustration**  
Approximate Timeline: **After Soul Society Arc (in between soul society and when Ulqoirra takes Orihime)**  
Other:** Romantic

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**Title: **Recovery**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer: **Bleach © Kubo Tite  
**Rating: **PG  
**Word Count: **500 - exactly!  
**Summary: **Renji is cleaning Urahara's shop when he gets a visit from Orihime (Renji & Orihime)  
**Authors Notes: **I don't know how well I pulled this one off. I don't write Bleach much, and I've never written Renji... and I'm no good at 'silly' so - meh! I don't know how good this is going to be. Oh well, I tried Spira.

* * *

Renji bound his hair tightly against the base of his skull, and tied a face mask across his mouth and nose. He pulled his sleeves up, with more force than was necessary, and dropped to his knees. 

"Scrub, scrub, scrub." He repeated with every stroke of the thick cloth in his hands over the dusty floor of Urahara's shop.

"And don't miss any spots, Freeloader-san!" Jinta yelled from the other room.

Renji's eye slimmed, but he kept scrubbing.

The wooden sliders to the back rooms moved, and Renji looked up just long enough to see Orihime's bare feet slide across his newly cleaned floor. He paused and pulled down his mask.

"I just cleaned there."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Abarai-kun. I didn't know." She stood on her tiptoes.

"Forget it. I'll just redo it later." He tossed the rag into the bucket beside her.

"Oh no! No, please, let me help you."

She dropped to knees, loudly, and winced. It wasn't until then, however, that Renji saw anything more than her legs.

Her head was still bandaged, and her arm was in a sling. "Oh, no no! Inuoe-san, I didn't realize you were still injured. Please, don't –"

But it was too late; she'd already reached her one good hand into the soapy water and was busy trying to ring out the rag with one hand.

Renji scooted closer to her and gently took it from her hands.

"Please, I want to help." She looked over at him, with those huge brown eyes, and Renji was momentarily caught off guard. He'd never really noticed her eyes before. They way they picked up the flecks of light that filtered in through the cracked door, or how her lips seemed to pout near the middle.

"That's really not necessary." He scratched the back of his head, just for something to do.

"It's frustrating being this useless."

"You're not useless. You're injured. You're only job right now is to get better." He watched her bite back tears as she nodded and bowed farther into herself.

"You're right Abarai-kun. I'm no good to anyone like this. I have to get stronger, so I can protect everyone. No more wandering on the sidelines, I want to fight." She balled her hand into a fist and looked right at him.

And for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Hearing his own resolve echoed in her and the look in her eyes as she said it, he wanted nothing more than to watch her achieve her goal. He wanted to see her strong, and fight. He wanted to see her gain power for the sake of others.

"Inoue-san," Renji looked right at her, with those shinning brown eyes that reflected perfectly everything he strived to be, "let me help you train."

She smiled at him, lopsided as the bandages around her hair crinkled at the effort. But he could tell, she was happy.

"Thank you, Abarai-kun! I won't let you down."

Renji smiled, despite himself. "I know."


	4. Bleach Renji&Tatsuki Caught

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** sunaneko**  
Fandom: **Bleach**  
Pairing:** Renji & Tatsuki**  
Word/Situation:** They are sneaking around or doing something dangerous.**  
Mood/Theme: **Adrenaline**  
Approximate Timeline: **When the shinigami are on the living plane/realm..**  
Other:** none

* * *

**Title: **Caught**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer: **Bleach © Kubo Tite  
**Rating: **K  
**Word Count: **500 - exactly!  
**Summary: **She tasted vaguely of something sweet, like cusping on childhood and rebellion. (Renji & Tatsuki)  
**Authors Notes: **This was really hard to write. This is the third version I wrote of this, and I still think the characterizations are all wrong.

* * *

She tasted vaguely of something sweet, like cusping on childhood and rebellion. Her hands traced his tattoos, trembling. He still couldn't get used to her trepidation. For all the rest of the world she was a clattering of fists and kicks, a champion, fierce and proud. 

She was still, but with him it was veiled behind a feminine mask of first kisses and propriety. He liked that she was surprised to find she liked his hair and skin, arms and hakama.

"Nice badge." She said the first time she confronted him. His gigai safely back at Urahara's shop, his uniform heavy on his shoulders under her scrutiny.

"You can see me?"

She smiled at him, deep and _knowing_. "I've always been able to see your true form." Her hands framed her hips and her eyes a brimming with smug satisfaction.

He was caught, and he knew it.

"What are you?" he asked her, a chill tearing down his spine, settling in the pit of his stomach. Ichigo wouldn't be happy.

"That's my question, _shinigami_." She purred it, like it was an endearment.

His fists clenched. Humiliation at being caught by a human girl, he should have been more careful around her. He sighed and turned to leave. He'd have to report his failure. He'd have to tell Ichigo, she was one of _his_, after all.

"I have a proposition for you, death god."

He turned and eyed her skeptically. "What?"

"Train me. My spiritual powers are wasted at a dojo." He watched the sinew of her muscles slide under her skin as she moved towards him. "And in return, I won't tell anyone about you."

"I could say the same. Ichigo would want to know." She very nearly blinked at the name, but nothing more, no indication that she cared or feared this action.

"Do what you like. He's not my father." He couldn't see it, but he could sense the anger. She was mad at Ichigo, maybe he already knew. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to beat her back and down until she learned what it was like to really train for combat, life on the line, sweaty and exhausted. "Besides," she went on, flippant and superior, "this is between you and me."

"And what makes you think I'd agree?"

"Because," she cooed as she stopped a foot away, "You're curious." She, of course, was right. He was.

"It's dangerous."

She laughed at this, a shrill bark with no humor in it.

He trained her, as unwise as it was, and they fought.

Him reserved, and her wild and unapologetic as her powers grew more pronounced. Eventually, he had to stop holding back. And eventually, he kissed her. Because she was strong and stubborn, because part of him knew she'd let him, but mostly because when she spoke about fighting, she reminded him of what it cost him to get this far.

And now, it's just as much training as it has become sneaking around.


	5. HP Harry&Draco Unreachable

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

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**Requester:** fleshdress**  
Fandom: **Harry Potter**  
Pairing:** Harry & Draco**  
Word/Situation:** **  
Mood/Theme: ****  
Approximate Timeline: **Post HBP pre DH... slightly AU**  
Other:**

* * *

**Title: **Unreachable**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter © JK Rowling  
**Rating: **T  
**Word Count: **500 - exactly!  
**Summary: **Anger flares in him, hot and sharp. It slices open old wounds that weren't his, but he now carries, alone in his grief. He wonders if his father ever loved the enemy. (Harry & Draco)  
**Authors Notes: **This is a thank you to the wonderful, talented fleshdress, who made me like slash, and James Potter. This was very much inspired after reading her stuff. You should too... she's ridiculously talented.

* * *

"Malfoy, did anyone ever tell you, you're kind of tragic?" Harry props himself up on his arm; the soft givings of the mattress lets him sink closer to Draco. The sun is setting out the window of the Gryffindor tower, the curtains of his bed drawn back to let the light in. Draco's face is blurred, without his glasses on, but angular and proud still, as always. 

_(Too good for you.) _

"What's that supposed to mean?" He stirs, but keeps his eyes shut, breathing lightly.

Harry spares a glance at the golden pocket watch the Weasleys gave him for his seventeenth birthday. He squints. They wouldn't have long. He could feel the vibrations of hundreds of students standing in the great hall, clapping. The house cup will have been awarded. With some late addition points, he thinks Draco might actually have regretted not going.

"Just that, you know, your life… your family –"

The word is barely off his lips before Draco was sitting upright, legs swung over the bed, callused soles against wood grain. "You don't get to speak about my family, Potter." He spat the name, like it was a curse. Harry wonders if he's reaching for his wand. With his back to him, he can't be sure. "At least I've got a family. I'm not an orphan, like you."

Harry tries, he really does. But anger flares in him, hot and sharp. It slices open old wounds that weren't his, but he now carries, alone in his grief. He wonders if his father ever loved the enemy. "All I meant was that you're…" he trailed off, lost the nerve, lost the words, never had them to begin with. "Never mind."

"No, tell me. What'd you mean?" Draco asks, dressing roughly. The coarse fabric of his shirt scraping over the soft texture of his naked back and Harry groans and folds up on himself, ashamed that even now, especially now, when the fight, he wants him still.

"Why do you always have to be such a prick?" Harry speaks to his tucked-up arms and bent knees.

"Don't go soft on me now Potter." Harry looked up, past the oranges and pinks of the fading day, fading light. It reflects off Draco's silver-white hair and makes his cool grey eyes look uncharacteristically warm. He thinks, maybe he loves him then, for the asshole that he is.

"All I meant was that you're kind of tragic. Misunderstood, burdened too young, made to do things you didn't want to, your father, Voldemort. You never really had it easy, did you?" Harry reaches for Draco's forearm. To that spot where the skin puckers in the faded shape of a now-stationary skull and snake. His fingers already know just how far he can get before –

"No." Draco pulls his arm away. "Not everyone can be The Chosen One. See you 'round." Draco stood, leaving Harry's fingers hanging in the empty air, still supplicating, reaching for the eternally unreachable.

He never does look back.


	6. Bleach Rukia&Renji & Ichigo Faded

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** sakura(underscore)charmed AKA chica de la luna fantasma**  
Fandom: **Bleach**  
Pairing:** Ichigo/Rukia/Renji**  
Word/Situation:** Uncertain**  
Mood/Theme: **Light/the rain has stopped falling**  
Approximate Timeline: **Soul Society Arc, on the Ryoka's parting for the human world. **  
Other:**

* * *

**Title: **Faded**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer: **Bleach © Kubo Tite  
**Rating: **K+  
**Word Count: **500 - exactly!  
**Summary: **The sky is always faded after a storm. (Rukia & Renji & Ichigo)  
**Authors Notes: **This is an AU of how Rukia _could _have told Ichigo she wasn't going to go with him. I tried to go for a 'light' mood, but I think I failed miserably. Sorry.

* * *

The sky is always faded after a storm, like the rain could wash away the blues and greens of the world. 

Rukia sits at a window, her head resting against the cool glass, hands in her lap. She expects to be bothered any second now.

"She's resting!" The unmistakable voice, bathed in too much concern, too much history, never enough time leaks through the screen-paneled door. She smiles, despite herself.

"Then stop yelling! You're gonna wake her up!" Another familiar voice, too new in it's richness, it cuts at the edges where she's not ready yet to admit who he reminds her of.

"Why don't both of you shut up!" She yells, her throat sore, her muscles ache, her heart weighs heavy in her breast. Shrouded in mourning, she blames herself for everything.

The doors slides open, gently. She's greeted with bright orange and red hair against the washed out scenery of Soul Society after a storm.

They look all wrong, too vibrant. She turns away from them, and their expectant faces that she owes too much – can't bring herself to thank them because she's garbage. She's knows she's not worth it, and their admiration, their devotion only serves to drive it home.

Their love twists the blade she holds even deeper.

They are quieter, subdued in her presence. They tip-toe, like she's broken, or will break, or is trying not to, she has no patience for this.

"What do you want?" A cold edge to her voice, she imagines what tomorrow will look like, still faded and stretched, like she's living in a copy of a copy. Funny, she doesn't remember dying.

"We're leaving tomorrow."

She snorts. Not because she means to, or because the pain of losing him, them, is almost too much to take. But because she knew it was coming. She knew it was the end, since the moment she heard he'd come for her.

Lying in a puddle of his own blood, she left to save him.

_Everything is backwards with him_.

"So go." She says it like it doesn't cut at her insides, tearing jagged pieces of her soul away.

"Rukia!" Renji can still be admonishing.

She closes her eyes and thinks back to when they were younger, burring their friends, trying not to fall in love, because love only ends in heartache. She knew it then as well as she does now.

They are stifling. She can't breathe when they are so close, almost with her, but still kept veiled, out of sight, just behind the screen of paper-thin excuses she lines herself with.

_Not good enough_. She says to herself, because no one is in her head to stop her.

"You won't come." It's not a question. Ichigo already knows, so instead, it's a statement.

She doesn't need to respond, so she doesn't. Not when Ichigo turns to leave or when Renji growls and turns away.

She doesn't cry when she's alone, not any more, not since the rain has stopped falling.


	7. FMA Winry&Roy Unspoken

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** batmarg**  
Fandom: **Fullmetal Alchemist**  
Pairing:** Roy/Winry**  
Word/Situation:** a chance meeting**  
Mood/Theme: **Author's Choice**  
Approximate Timeline: **Post Movie **  
Other: **Slight incorporation of the manga universe. i.e Scar killed her parents, not Roy. Other than that, all anime canon.**  
**

* * *

**Title: **Unspoken**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer: **Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa-sama  
**Rating: **K+  
**Word Count: **500 - exactly!  
**Summary: **It's been years since she's seen him last. (Winry & Roy)  
**Authors Notes: **I had a lot of fun writing this. Roy/Winry remains one of my all time OTPs in any fandom.

* * *

It's been years since she's seen him last. 

She still wore her hair long back then, falling around her face, wrench in hand and hope that _maybe_ she'd have her happily-ever-ever.

She knows better now. Hindsight has a way of doing that.

He doesn't greet her like the child she's sure he remembers her as.

_Hello._

And she tries to keep the trembling from her voice because of who he reminds her of.

_Hello._

There is an awkward sort of pause where she's sure they're both thinking of the same person. They don't say the name. Even when he asks her get a cup of coffee and…

_Do some catching up._

So she agrees, and doesn't bother to remind him that she never really knew him to begin with.

_That sounds nice._

And they don't say the name when she trips over the leg of a chair.

_Are you okay?_

Or when she cries at her twisted ankle.

_It's so typical of me._

Or when he lifts her up and helps her walk to his apartment.

_Let me help you._

They doesn't say the name as he wraps her bruised ankle.

_Thank you._

Or when he leans in and brushes his lips lightly over hers.

_Because you looked like you needed it._ He says and leaves her in his living room while he brews some coffee.

"I always knew you'd come back to Central." She says, sipping her coffee, ignoring the fact that Roy Mustang has just kissed her.

"Funny, I didn't think you would." He says, looking over the rim of his mug, white gloves and red array making him look two-toned.

"I couldn't not." She tells him, like it's an answer to the unasked question of _why_ she came back. And he nods, like he understands her unspoken meaning.

"Well, it's nice to see a familiar face."

_Everyone else is gone _doesn't get said, because they both know it's there… in the space that surrounds them. They knew it better than anyone.

"How long have you lived here?" She asks, trying to speak past the lump that's risen in her throat. _How long has it been since he left?_ is what she really means. Because his absence from this world is the only way she knows how to measure time.

"Years." _I don't like to think about it._ He tells her without having to say anything more. "You?"

"It seems like forever." _Without him._

She smiles here, because the strange pattern they've settled into is almost familiar. So she stays, foot wrapped, and indulging on his hospitality until the sun hangs low in the sky and she is forced to say goodnight.

"Would you come again?" he asks from the door, his hand on her arm to steady her as she teeters and waits for a cab.

"I'd like that." There is no pretense in her words, no hidden meaning, no stretched message he must strain to hear. Just the words she's spoken and a, soft, easy smile.


	8. Naruto Sakura&Yamato Gossip

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** fivesecondsago**  
Fandom: **Naruto**  
Pairing:** Sakura/Yamato**  
Word/Situation:** gossip**  
Mood/Theme: **UST**  
Approximate Timeline: **future!fic (maybe 3+ years)**  
Other: **...

* * *

**Title: **Gossip**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer: **Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto-sama  
**Rating: **K+  
**Word Count: **500 - exactly!  
**Summary: **It was a game, at first. (Sakura & Yamato)  
**Authors Notes: **In the words of fivesecondsago, "Sakura/Yamato doesn't have enough love; it's very sad."

* * *

It was a game, at first. She'd smile and touch his arm. He'd laugh and roll his head back, over the muscles of his shoulders until he could feel his neck crack. 

"Yamato-tashio," she says in a stern voice, "you shouldn't push yourself."

"It's alright, Sakura." He smiles and touches her shoulder. "I'm fine."

It started out with just a little flirting.

_What harm could it do?_ She asks herself, and tries not to think about what it's costing her to play the game.

"You're out late." He catches her outside a bar, after closing. She's sickly sweet from the fruity drink she's been nursing all night.

"Walk me home." She tells him and slips her arm though his.

There is a moment, along the way, when she's sure he can _feel_ the ache that swirls in her stomach. But then, he turns his eyes away, slowly, and with more meaning that she can let herself understand.

"Goodnight." He says and leaves her on her doorstep.

Sakura is unsatisfied.

She knows people are probably talking, whispering behind her back.

_Indecent, inappropriate, she comes and goes at all hours of the night._

But she doesn't really mind that they gossip. She never did before, when she was the one who was left behind. They talked about her then too, that she was broken, and weak. But they were wrong then, and they're wrong now.

She lies to everyone… even herself.

"Not today." He tells her, solemn face one summer day. She tilts her head and imagines what he tastes like. "I'm leaving."

She shrugs and draws back, into a crouched offensive pose. "Then we should train."

He is stronger than she remembered, and it takes him only four hours to knock her unconscious. But when she wakes, the look in his eyes tells her all she needs to know.

She's won.

"Yamato…"

He is still so awkward around her, like she's a doll he could break. She doesn't mind it, too much.

_It's his eyes,_ she tells herself, _and maybe his hands._

But whatever it is about this man, not quite born, not exactly alive… a walking legacy, reanimated by the experiments of a madman they rally their hate around.

"What do you remember?" she asks him on a mission, alone in the woods while Naruto sleeps and Sai keeps second watch.

"Nothing." His face is warm in the firelight. She touches his cheek. "Don't." He pleads with her. Not like Kakashi would, or Naruto would. It's hollow and Sakura can practically feel his dissent.

She withdraws, skin buzzing and straddles the log he sits on. "Why?" she asks, because she can't help herself.

He shrugs and stands. He moves away from her, back into the cooling air of the camp. "Because…"

People can talk if they want. Tsunade can forbid her, and Kakashi can lecture her, Naruto can hate her. But Sakura knows the look he gives her before he fades into the dark says more than words ever could.


	9. XMen Rogue&Logan Immortal

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** zelha**  
Fandom: **X-Men (Movie-verse)**  
Pairing:** Logan/Rogue**  
Word/Situation:** blanket scenario**  
Mood/Theme:****  
Approximate Timeline: **Post 'The Last Stand'. Rogue has been _cured_.**  
Other: **smut

* * *

**Title: **Immortal**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer: **X-Men© Marvel**  
Rating: **M (strong M for sexual situations)**  
Word Count: **500 - exactly!**  
Summary: **The cure may have been manipulated into a weapon, stolen from a child, used against your allies, but just this once – you're happy you chose it. (Rogue & Logan)**  
Authors Notes: **My first X-Men fic. I tried out third person. I think it fits well for the situation and characters. but what do I know, I'm just the crappy author.

* * *

Skin on skin. 

_It's been so long._

And it feels right, like nothing ever has before. You ache for it, thirst and hunger bound in the hair on his chest, arms, face.

You bend, bow to it, this spiraling, frantic, godly sensation of warm flesh against you.

The friction of palm to breast and lips to throat make you gasp, turned upside-down and inside-out, you can't even form coherent thoughts except: _more, more, more!_

He's everywhere, but it's still not enough.

"Please." You beg him.

Not afraid to look weak, he's always protected you, always come for you.

The cure may have been manipulated into a weapon, stolen from a child, used against your allies, but just this once – you're happy you chose it.

His hands are wandering; his lips leave a trail of electric, erotic simulation across your stomach.

You don't remember how it went from sweet, innocent, well-meant, experimental, tentative touches to this: this hot, urgent race where the fabric of your shirt shreds in his hands.

You asked him to touch you. Downcast eyes and hesitant tone, you twisted your fingers and admitted you couldn't remember what it felt like to be _touched_.

"Please, Logan." You asked him, the only other person who managed to understand you, to save you, to exile himself as much as you have. "Please." You only needed to ask once, but the second time is raw and quivering so that when the tips of his fingers graze over your cheek your eyes swing shut and you arch into his stroke.

It's not soft, you never really expected him to be. Instead, it's feral and his palms grate at you, tear at bits you didn't even know were there. He disassembles you, piece by piece.

He's slow and methodical. You quiver now, pleading incoherently. But he knows better, he knows to take his time without having to be told. And all you can do is let him.

He makes sure to touch every inch of you: a hand through your hair, rough and clumsy; a kiss to the inside of your elbow, glancing fingers on the underside of your knee. Places you knew existed but never imagined could hunger like they do.

You feel like its 1000 degrees in your skin. You itch to be free of your husk, and climb into him. Shed the layers of yourself that ache from 18 years of misuse.

And when he's done, when he's sure he's touched every speck of you with flesh and lips and tongue, he lays you flat, bare and practically sobbing.

"Logan." You murmur as he hovers over you.

He doesn't ask. He already knows you'll die if he stops now. But as he slides in, he holds your face and watches you.

When it's over, you don't ask what it cost him to give you this. You just accept the memory of what it felt like to be touched by an immortal and curl up on yourself.

You don't regret it.


	10. Ouran Kaoru&Renge Punishment

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** spiritualenergy**  
Fandom: **Ouran Host**  
Pairing:** Kaoru/Renge**  
Word/Situation:** Heart-Shapped Buttons**  
**** Approximate Timeline: **None**  
**

* * *

**Title: **Punishment**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Ouran Host © Bisco Hatori  
**Rating: **K  
**Word Count: **100 - exactly!**  
Summary: **Renge has a new outfit for Kaoru to try out. (Kaoru & Renge)**  
Authors Notes: **Christmas Drabble for SE. It's a little late so I wrote you both of what you wanted. Don't ask about the last line. I don't know. I'm making this up as I go.

* * *

"Put this on." Renge instructed, holding out a dry-cleaner bag each for Kaoru and Hikaru.

"What is it?" Hikaru asked, one skeptical eyebrow raised.

"You're next costume." She smiled, fiendishly.

"Let's get this over with." Hikaru sighed and took his hanger from her.

Karou smirked, and followed suit.

"You have to." She added ominously.

_- Ten minutes later -_

Kaoru came storming out of the changing room. He was wearing what appeared to be a yellow speedo, bowtie and vest complete with heart-shaped buttons. "What the hell is this?" he demanded pointing to the barely-there outfit.

"Punishment." She smiled, wickedly.


	11. Beyblade Rei&Hiromi Practice

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** spiritualenergy**  
Fandom: **Beyblade**  
Pairing:** Rei/Hiromi**  
Word/Situation:** None**  
**** Approximate Timeline: **None**  
**

* * *

**Title: **Practice**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Beyblade © Takao Aoki  
**Rating: **T  
**Word Count: **100 - exactly!**  
Summary: **Tyson and Kai eavesdrop. (Rei & Hiromi)**  
Authors Notes: **Second Christmas Drabble for SE. I wanted to do something funny for her.

* * *

"You're doing it wrong." 

"How would you know?"

"Because I do." _Pause._ "Here, let me try."

"Oh yeah, 'cause you're such an expert."

"I am an expert!"

"So you say."

"You're being too rough. You have to be gentle. Like this…"

"Oh. I see. Like this?"

"Almost, but it's more of a…"

"Ohhhh, let me try."

"Fine, just don't tug too hard."

"Like this? Am I doing it right?"

"Yeah, just like that. That's good."

Tyson looked at Kai, whose face was just as red as his was as they eavesdropped on Rei showing Hiromi how to launch a bitbeast.


	12. Roswell Micheal&Liz Karma

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** batmarg**  
Fandom: **Roswell  
**Pairing:** Michael/Liz  
**Word/Situation:** None  
**Approximate Timeline: **Right after 'Missing'

* * *

**Title: **Karma**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Roswell © Jason Katims  
**Rating: **T  
**Word Count: **100 - exactly!**  
Summary: **Liz decides not to lock her windows (Michael & Liz)**  
Authors Notes: **batmarg's first of 2 Christmas drabbles. Sorryfor being late. And thanks for converting to Polar.

* * *

"Lock your windows." Michael had said before he left that night.

It wasn't until she was about to dress for bed that she remembered. A little embarrassed, and stubborn, Liz decided she didn't _want_ to lock her windows, or draw her curtains.

After all, the chances that Michael was outside at that moment was almost nonexistent. So she changed into her pajamas in front of the opened window that night.

In the dark, Michael took this as some kind of cosmic karma for taking her journal. The universe was taunting him, he was sure of it.

It simply wasn't fair.


	13. FireflySerenity River&Jayne All Play

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** batmarg**  
Fandom: **Firefly/Serenity  
**Pairing:** River/Jayne  
**Word/Situation:** None  
**Approximate Timeline: **None

* * *

**Title: **All Play**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Firefly/Serenity © Joss Wheddon  
**Rating: **T  
**Word Count: **100 - exactly!**  
Summary: **River has a spunky moment. (River & Jayne)**  
Authors Notes: **batmarg's second Christ Drabble request. I was happy to write it. (Chinese translated at the end.)

* * *

"Don't." River whispered in Jayne's ear as she held him flat against the curve of Serenity's hull. 

"_Nee-y wuh-KAI CHANG_!" Jayne challenged, trying to overpower her.

River smiled, all play, and licked his earlobe.

"You have no idea." She yanked his arm back, dislocating his shoulder, and dug her knee into the soft flesh of his inner thigh.

"_Nyen ching-duh_?" Simon's calming voice broke through to her, and she quickly released Jayne.

A second later, she was pinned to the deck. "Just wait." The threatening promise hung in the air as he stood and retreated to sulk in his bunk.

* * *

Nee-y wuh-KAI CHANG: You wanna bullet right through your throat? 

Nyen ching-duh: Young one


	14. Naruto Itachi&Kisame Porcelain

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** _Anonymous_**  
Fandom: **Naruto  
**Pairing:** Kisame/Itachi  
**Word/Situation:** "Water"  
**Approximate Timeline: **None

* * *

**Title: **Porcelain**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto  
**Rating: **K  
**Word Count: **100 - exactly!**  
Summary: **It was the rain that did it, made Itachi look vulnerable.**  
Authors Notes: **Done fore sira's Multifandom Anon Drabble Meme at LJ**  
**

* * *

Water, like plastic sheets, folded over sickly blue, hollowed-out cheekbones, like gills.

It was the rain that did it, made Itachi look vulnerable. Just a look, really. Just the impression that maybe he was human after all.

Through the sheets of rain the sun hid, cast in the grey, wind-swept sky, it glinted at the edges.

It was just a second. Just one moment when the horror of Itachi's monstrous power faded in the presence of his blood-red eyes. His downcast face, awash in drops of cold rain running down his face, like tears - like a kind of porcelain doll.


	15. Bleach Orihime&Kon Just this Once

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** _Anonymous_**  
Fandom: **Bleach  
**Pairing:** Orihime/Kon  
**Word/Situation:** "the space age" (ignored)  
**Approximate Timeline: **None

* * *

**Title: **Just this Once**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Bleach © Kubo Tite  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count: **100 - exactly!**  
Summary: **She lived for this. (Kon/Orihime)**  
Authors Notes: **Done for sira's Multifandom Anon Drabble Meme at LJ**  
**

* * *

"Just this once." She whispered.

"Inoue." Kon made his voice deep, to match Ichigo's body.

She lived for this, these solitary moments when she could pretend that Ichigo loved her. Kon was all too happy to oblige.

She closed her eyes and let his hands, those hands she knew so well, slide down the fabric that hung from her shoulders.

"Just this once." She told him every time Ichigo was away, training, rescuing someone that would never love him as much as she did. It became the mantra that entwined them, bound by a promise that meant nothing, and everything.


	16. Narnia Tumus&Lucy The Golden Age of Love

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** _--_**  
Fandom: **The Chronicles of Narnia  
**Pairing:** Mr. Tumus/Lucy  
**Word/Situation:** --  
**Approximate Timeline: **None

* * *

**Title: **The Golden Age of Love**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Narnia © C.S. Lewis  
**Rating:** PG-13**  
Summary: **She loved him... (Mr. Tumus/Lucy (older))**  
Authors Notes: **Done for **kaiwynn**'s _**NARNIA UNCANON DRABBLE-A-THON**_ at LJ**  
**

* * *

She loved him sweetly, with all the child-like innocence of a first love. She loved when he played the flute for her, because it was melodic and familiar. It reminded her of a home she no longer associated with humanity. War and bombs and a generation of fathers lost to a cause she was too young to understand.

She grew, older, wiser, more valiant with each passing year. And Narnia became home, body and soul. Until she no longer recalled another life, just beyond the lamppost and through the wardrobe.

She loved him as her companion in adventure. She loved him as her companion in triumph. She loved him as hers. Hers to love, and hers to keep. She loved him when he took her on solitary walks by the eastern seas. She loved him with each passing year as she grew taller, as daughters of eve were prone to do – and he remained so much the same.

She asked him once, why he didn't age.

And he smiled, lips curled at the edges with so much joy. "Fauns do not age the way humans do, young Queen Lucy."

Already in her teens, she looped her arm in his and watched the waves lap at the stone-strewn shore.

She loved him, as young girls often do, when he was away; visiting the farther reaches of her kingdom, past the Western mountains, to the seas that lay unclaimed. And she loved him still, when he returned three years later, more bronze than she remembered him ever being.

His smile was radiant when he greeted her. Open arms, strong hands, and bare chest. He smelled of spring. Even in the dead of winter, he always smelled of fresh rain and rich earth, wet bark and saplings.

She loved him the first time she kissed him. Bashful and blushing, she touched the tips of her lips to the corner of his in a not-quite-accidental greeting. He took her hand in his patted it, reassuringly and bent to offer his thanks. Lips to lips.

He still played the flute for her.

Even after she was gone, and the world faded into darkness once again.

She loved him, even when she was a child again, because she could still recall the feel of his lips and the sound of his flute just before she fell to sleep.


	17. Narnia Trumpkin&Lucy Legends

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** _--_**  
Fandom: **The Chronicles of Narnia  
**Pairing:** Trumpkin/Lucy  
**Word/Situation:** --  
**Approximate Timeline: **None

* * *

**Title: **Legends**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Narnia © C.S. Lewis  
**Rating:** PG**  
Summary: **He grew up listening to tales of the Kings and Queens of Old. (Trumpkin/Lucy)**  
Authors Notes: **Done for **kaiwynn**'s _**NARNIA UNCANON DRABBLE-A-THON**_ at LJ**  
**

* * *

Trumpkin was born in an age of war. When the forests ceased to be mysterious and instead became ominous. He grew as a boy, fearing humans, fearing their weapons and blood-lust for power. He was fed the stories from the cradle and rocked to sleep with tales of the great White Witch, and 100 years of winter.

But he wasn't enamored with the witch who banished St. Nicholas, or kept Aslan at bay – though her power was something to be envied. Instead, he grew up loving the Kings and Queens of old. Those who ruled during the Golden Age of the Kingdom. Those strange humans who fought on the side of the Narnian's, and risked their lives to bring spring again.

He'd been to Cair Paravel and seen the ruins. He stood at the far left of the great hall, and imagined what she'd been like… Queen Lucy the Valiant. There were paintings of her, left in ancient tombs and scrolls hidden away in secret libraries. There were even those who regarded her as High Queen.

Since it had been she who found Narnia, and ventured forth as a child. And it was she, so moved by the plight of a common faun, who convinced her siblings to come to the aid of his world. It was said that she had a heart larger than any human. Compassionate and loyal. She was brave and sometimes impetuous. And legends told of how great her beauty was as she grew. And it was her face that he imaged, as a young dwarf, when he conjured thoughts of beautiful women.

But faced with the bright-eyed child – already a lifetime old – he was helpless against her persistent innocence. Even through two ages of war, and countless encounters with the evil that plagued both worlds, she was able to see the good in wild animals, and the magic in the silent forest.

If there was anyone who could get the trees to dance, Trumpkin had no doubt it would be Queen Lucy the Valiant.


	18. HP Harry&Luna Breathing Underwater

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** _--_**  
Fandom: **Harry Potter  
**Pairing:** Harry/Luna  
**Word/Situation:** --  
**Approximate Timeline: **AU 7th year - Hogwarts before the last battle.

* * *

**Title: **Breathing Underwater**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling  
**Rating:** PG**  
Summary: **She loved him, because he was a boy named Harry and she was a girl named Luna. (Harry/Luna)**  
Authors Notes: **Done for **fallenmelody**'s **Harry Potter Drabble-A-Thon** at LJ**  
**

* * *

Harry was never quite sure how to act around Luna. It was something about the way her eyes followed him, even when he wore his invisibility cloak.

She never said anything to him, on those nights when he found her sitting at the far shore of the lake. She looked ethereal in the moonlight, like a magical creature. Like something Hagrid might capture and weep about.

He liked to watch her at night, when there were no pretenses of Loony Lovegood, or prophecies of The Chosen One. Perhaps that's what brought him back, night after night. Knowing at no matter how he disguised or hid himself, she was always able to see right through him.

When he was with her, he was just a boy. And she, a girl. Her dreamy eyes weren't vague or distant, they were captivating. He liked the way he felt when he was with her, like she made him forget that he was scared, or famous, or infamous.

She loved him simply for the boy he was. Not the notoriety, not the name, or the legacy and legend. She loved him, because he was a boy named Harry and she was a girl named Luna. And because she understood him, even when it seemed the rest of the world forgot how to relate to the Boy Who Lived, she always managed to make him feel normal.

He craved normal in those last few months before the final battle.

And when she kissed him, it wasn't that sweeping kind of feeling – like a monster clawing at his chest or destiny carrying him away. For the first time in his life, when he kissed her, it felt exactly like breathing underwater. Like, if only he could do it all the time, he might survive.


	19. Narnia Trumpkin&Lucy The App of Will

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** _--_**  
Fandom: **The Chronicles of Narnia  
**Pairing:** Trumpkin/Lucy  
**Word/Situation:** --  
**Approximate Timeline: **Prince Caspian (more book canon than movie)

* * *

**Title: **The Application of Will**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Narnia © C.S. Lewis  
**Rating:** PG**  
Summary: **Trumpkin doesn't believe in magic. (Trumpkin/Lucy)**  
Authors Notes: **Done for **kaiwynn**'s _**NARNIA UNCANON DRABBLE-A-THON**_ at LJ**  
**

* * *

Trumpkin doesn't believe in magic.

Born centuries too late to be proven wrong, he just figures things like magic are made up constructs to appease a race of creatures that have been methodically exterminated. Made to hide in hollowed-out trees and scurry through the underbrush of the forest like common animals.

He doesn't believe in benevolence and justice. He's never known such things, except in fairy tales about the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve. But those are just legends, told to little Narnians who fear the dark. They're just bed-time stories.

He sees homes destroyed, and visited the great ruins of Cair Paravel. But all he sees at the Eastern Citadel are the ancient remains of a genocide.

Humans who are kind and brave are as likely as Aslan: a ridiculous legend of a lion who rose from the dead. What use would he have for such unpractical things anyway? He's a warrior, a general, leader of the underground rebellion. He is loyal to Caspian the tenth because it's pragmatic.

It's strange, then, that it was he who sounded the fabled horn of Susan's. But the siege is long, and desperation grips heavy hearts in the wake of blood and ashes. It's a fool's hope to trust, to believe, to dare to wish that they're not alone. And he's still just enough of a fool to blow the horn.

It's not the prospect Aslan that he dares to hope for. It's the idea that maybe there are still those who remember. Not like the bears that've forgotten how to speak or trees that no longer dance (maybe never did). The horn is for those who are left, for those who can still fight, who still cling to the names of Aslan and Peter the Magnificent like a promise of a Golden Age still yet to come. It's for those who still believe that there is some hope left.

He knows he's hoping for a miracle, to think that after so long they would reemerge. But he suspects that is the true power of the horn. It rallies all those who still beleive.

Trumpkin doesn't believe in magic, because it's something he can't see or touch or hear. And if he can't touch something, he doesn't believe.

But all that changes when he see _her_.

She's younger – still baby-faced and freckled. But there is no mistaking her. He's seen her face before. When he was much younger, hiding in the great catacombs of old. There was a tomb of a faun there, with a huge painting of the very same face. Shinning eyes, vibrant smile, and an air of innocence he couldn't explain. Even though the paint was chipped and faded from age in the torch-light, he couldn't help but think she had the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

He read the inspection of the tomb, and scoffed to think of such crows and crockery.

But as he stands before her, crosses blades with her brother, watches the skill of her sister's bow, and is healed with a drop of her elixir – he is forced to reconsider his stance on magic.

He vows then, as she looks at him with those innocent, a-lifetime-old-already-eyes that no harm shall come to her.

Magic seems to come to her freely. It surrounds her, drawn to her – like he is. And when he's with her, or around her, or suffering the indignity of DLF, he loves her. He loves her courage, because it surpasses what he thought was possible of one so small. He loves her valor, even when it gets her into trouble, which inevitably gets him into trouble. But most of all, he loves it when she insists she's an adult, because really – even when she was grown centuries ago, he was sure she was still a child at heart.

She had more faith in the unseen things than any Narnian he'd ever known. She asked him once, by firelight, what things would have been like if they hadn't left.

He frowned, and poked the embers with a stick. "Then I would never have met you." He mumbled, mostly to his beard.

She smiles, brightly, and touches his hand. "I suppose you're right."

And he's never wished to be a child so much. He's never wanted to believe in magic more than when he's with her. He's never wanted to be human more than he does as he watches her go. And his heart aches for a lifetime after she's gone, leaving them (him) behind.

Trumpkin didn't believe in things like magic and love, until he met Lucy Pevensie.


	20. Naruto Ino&Sakura Exercise in Futility

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** _--_**  
Fandom: **Naruto  
**Pairing:** Ino/Sakura  
**Word/Situation:** --  
**Approximate Timeline: **none

* * *

**Title: **An Exercise in Futility**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto  
**Rating:** M**  
Summary: **Sakura likes the way it feels when she lays next to her, wrapped up in sheets and limbs and teeth (Ino/Sakura).**  
Authors Notes: **Done for **pinkcrack**'s_** DRABBLE-A-THON**_ at LJ**  
**

* * *

_Hands_

This means nothing. Nothing but home and warm and safe – like no place on earth. It means nothing, because it **is** nothing, because she's still NOT.CLOSE.ENOUGH!

_Lips_

It was strange the first time, an accident. The way she leaned in, to tease, to taste, to touch.

Shouldn't touch. Never… never in the open.

Behind closed door, driving up a wall. All flesh and bone and want and need. It drips and aches and plunges down. Like tongues. Like hope. Like rivalries. Like secrets.

This is a secret. Hidden from the other, their friends, themselves.

What was it at first? "Just curiosity."

Sakura likes the way it feels when she lays next to her, wrapped up in sheets and limbs and teeth. Oh, she likes it when there's moving, when her fingers slide and nails graze over the swell of Ino's breasts.

Whatever the reason, so long ago they can't recall, they're here now. Sweat and pleas coax them from modesty. Sakura, long since forgotten what it felt like to crave a man, writhes and fists at the white linens of Ino's bed.

Morning finds them entwined, again.

_Please._

She means it, this time, every time, she wants it, needs it, can't live, can't breathe without it. Without _her._

This isn't about _them_, everyone in the world who isn't in the room. It isn't even about love. It's about here, and now, and GIVE ME something I can hold on to. Wishes she could live like this for always.

_Not enough._

The clock chimes, and she knows its coming. (She's been counting the minutes since they were 16.) She dresses, slowly, hoping this time she can stay.

Ino folds her underwear and leans back against the headboard – still naked.

It's almost enough to make Sakura rethink this. Rethink NOT being with her.

"I have a mission." She tells her, over her shoulder. _I don't care, won't care, if you don't._

(Not alone in this.)

"Oh." She doesn't notice that this is tearing her apart.

"I slept with Naruto."

"Did you?" Ino's hand traces lazy circles down her skin, just past her nipple, over her hips. She doesn't look up. Her nipples are hard. "How was he?"

Sakura thinks.

… _admitting it means losing._

"I see." But she doesn't, she can't. How could she? If she saw, if she knew, she wouldn't send her away. She wouldn't do _that._ That thing where she touches herself right when Sakura **has** to leave. "Well, have fun." Her voice is breathy, teasing.

Not fair, not fair, NOT FAIR.

There are rules. Not written, or discussed, or even really implied. Just procedures, protocols that must be followed when they kiss, when the touch, when they talk. There are things they can say, lick, do, and things they can't.

And straddling Ino, holding her wrists against the headboard with so much strength the it cracks, and plunging two gloved-fingers inside her is definitely on that list, somewhere right below _falling in love._

Sakura leans in, her hair falling from the headband she was in the middle of tying, (its not important now anyway) and whispers in her ear.

"Tell me you need this." It's pleading, and desperate, and a part of her breaks to hear the strain, the lust, the ache in her own voice. Ino is soaking through her gloves, making her fingers sticky. "Tell me you want it." she is losing this battle, has been for a long time now. Too stubborn to give up.

Ino says nothing, but moans and thrusts and it's almost like winning.

"This means nothing." She punctuates every syllable.

And it's true. It _means_ nothing. Nothing but need, and breath and life. She could stop, whenever she wanted.

If only she could bring herself to want to.

Just before Ino's climax, she pulls her fingers out and kisses her. Her upper lips is salty with sweat. There is no gentleness in this.

Sakura licks her fingers, and wipes her gloves on Ino's comforter.

"I'll be back in a week."

It's open-ended, it's meant to be this way.

She won't say she needs this, can't live without it, _don't want anyone to touch her but me._ But it's there, in the air, in her eyes, in the way she watches her, wants her, touches, kisses, fucks her.

Nothing exists beyond this. It's an exercise in futility. One that she's winning, today at least.


	21. Twilight Jacob&Leah Surrender

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** **medoraly****  
Fandom: **Twilight  
**Pairing:** Jacon/Leah  
**Word/Situation:** I've got blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week  
**Approximate Timeline: **Post Eclipse

* * *

**Title: **Surrender**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Twilight © Stephanie Meyers  
**Rating:** K+**  
Summary: **(Jacob/Leah)**  
Authors Notes: **Done at **pinkceptional**'s _**TWILIGHT UNCANON DRABBLE REQUEST MEME**_ at LJ

* * *

She watched him.

Sometimes.

When she was bored, or vindictive, or _Leah_.

She watched him for signs of cracks. Like a damn inspector.

She was just worried about flooding, about the water under him that would wash her away. It was self-preservation, really, that made her care, or notice at all. She didn't want to drown in him, in his petulant _sorrow_.

She saw it better, perhaps, than anyone did. She saw him, and _it_. That thing, that twisted, angry, vengeful thing that ate away at him. Like a monster clawing it's way out, tearing and ripping and devouring everything that made him Jacob Black.

He was letting the monster win.

And she hated it. She hated it, because she'd known him her whole life. Before _this_, before _her_ before all of it. She hated it because she knew he was better than this, he was better than pinning and self-absorbed pity. He was a Black.

And he was losing to the darkness.

She wanted to walk away, forget it, forget him. Imagine none of it mattered, imagine he didn't matter, imagine she was still in love with Sam.

She was sick of dreaming of that sickly-pale stick. She was tired of pretending she _cared_ if the precious little thing lived or died or disappeared forever. And all the hate that she used to devote to Sam and Emily and the perfect life that was taken from her was slowly transformed into a loathing for anything that reminded her of Bella Swan. Until she forgot to be spiteful, or that she was an outsider, or that she ever loved Sam at all.

She wouldn't phase for a week, because she _knew_ she couldn't hide it. And so long as she was human, she could just bite her tongue – watch his self-destruction in festering silence. But if he was in her head, thinking those thoughts she could read well-enough without a physic connection, she knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself.


	22. Twilight Jasper&Bella More Than I Should

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** **fallenmelody** **  
Fandom: **Twilight  
**Pairing:** Jasper/Bella  
**Word/Situation:** _together we'll survive_  
**Approximate Timeline: **Post Eclipse

* * *

**Title: **More Than I Should**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Twilight © Stephanie Meyers  
**Rating:** K+**  
Summary: **(Jasper/Bella)**  
Authors Notes: **Done at **pinkceptional**'s _**TWILIGHT UNCANON DRABBLE REQUEST MEME**_ at LJ**  
**

* * *

It was like a promise, or the promise of a promise. Not a truce, for they had never quarreled – he had seen to that. It was just an understanding, tentatively arrived at one afternoon while Jasper took his turn 'Human Sitting.' A thing neither of them were very happy with.

Bella sat, with her arms crossed, and watched him from across the room. She tried her best to give him a malevolent stare, one that she imagined could curdle milk, and peel an orange with the depth and breath of it.

She was, of course, failing miserably. And not just because Jasper was a mythical monster, but also because he had the curious infatuation with making her feel giddy.

"Stop it." She ordered him, through a gritted smile – contorted from the effort to erase it from her face.

"Stop what?" He asked, light and breezy. And Bella was reminded, again, that they could all dazzle her, if they were so inclined.

"That." She said, as a wave of fitful giggles erupted from her, unbidden. "Stop that, I'm pissed at you."

"But it's easier this way." He commented as he leaned against the doorframe of her room. He was so much like a child sometimes; it was easy to forget how dangerous he was.

"It only seems easier. This isn't really helping at all." And with that, all the anger came flooding back to her, a deluge of indignant petulance. Bella scaled it back herself this time. "Thank you."

They sat in silence for a while, before Bella turned to him. "Is it tiring? Trying to control people's moods?"

He blinked once, then straightened out. "I don't feel fatigue." He was a little like a puppy too, they way he managed to look confused and cute and completely bewildered at her humanity.

"Are you worried you'll kill me?" She asked, off-handed. It through him. She could see it in his face. "You're surprised I asked?"

"No, I'm just surprised you asked it while still feeling at ease."

"My death isn't something I lament over, Jasper."

"Well then, yes, I suppose it's something I worry about."

"Because of Edward?" she uncrossed her arms and leaned into the plush cushions of the couch.

"Because it would mean killing you." He answered, perplexed as usual. He answered as if it confused him that he would be more concerned with Edward than her.

"Do you like me, Jasper? I know you didn't at first, but you went along with it. For Alice, for Edward. But now, do you like me?" She felt a wave of calm sweep over her, without permission.

"More than I should."

He was gone from the doorway before she could catch his eye.

They spent the rest of the day separated by several rooms of the Cullen house. But Bella wasn't concerned. As long as he was near by, she knew she'd be safe. She trusted him enough to know that, she'd seen it in his amber eyes when he said he bothered him to think of killing her. Even with the Volturi hunting her, together they would survive.


	23. Twilight Jasper&Jacob InkStained

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** **integrand** **  
Fandom: **Twilight  
**Pairing:** Jacob/Jasper  
**Word/Situation:** Only that it must involve tattoos and scars!  
**Approximate Timeline: **Post Eclipse

* * *

**Title: **Ink-Stained**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Twilight © Stephanie Meyers  
**Rating:** M**  
Summary: **(Jacob/Jasper)**  
Authors Notes: **Done at **pinkceptional**'s _**TWILIGHT UNCANON DRABBLE REQUEST MEME**_ at LJ

* * *

All teeth and lips and nails and hair. All anger, and hate, and wild inhibition.

Jasper didn't have to worry about _who was worried_ or _trying to keep everyone calm_. This was uncensored, unrestrained, unhindered emotion.

Raw, and real. It cut at him, like Jacob's teeth digging into his neck. And, _Oh, what a nice thing it was, to be the prey_.

He let Jacob's rage pool, let him fester with it, watched him explode with it. It would be a crime to try and rob him of it.

It's was drew him to the wolf. He was made of volatile emotions. He was untamed. He was someone Jasper would never win with. He never quite understood what drew Jacob to these clandestine meetings. Maybe it was like victory. To dominate him, to force a vampire into submission, to _not_ have to hold back.

He took all his hatred and poured it into Jasper. And he let him. It was good, not to have to pretend to be okay, not to pretend that he wasn't haunted, and tortured, and dying to just tear something apart.

The scars that didn't show on his marble skin still existed on another level. Not a soul, it was far to disconcerting to think he still had one of those. But in a place where eyesight couldn't reach, and time couldn't heal, the scars of a life and death, and life-after-death that Jasper always wished he could forget JUST.WOULDN'T.FADE.

They fought, with lips and skin and hands.

Jasper fought to forget, to erase, to prove he wasn't human.

Jacob fought because it was the only battle he could win.

_Take what you can get._

He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of Jacob's thigh. Strained and desperate, he always reached for the same spot. It was the tattoo of a tribal wolf.

Jasper loved the pain of it, ink staining russet skin, the way he imagined these trysts stained his soul – his almost-human, too-good-to-ever-love-you soul. Jasper liked to think that he left a smudge, a dribbling of darkness, like a tattoo on the wolf-boy.


	24. Twilight Sam&Leah HurricaneBreeze

**THESE DRABBLES ARE NOT CROSSOVERS! **

**THEY ARE MULTIFANDOM REQUESTS I TOOK FROM MY FRIENDS ON LJ.  
**

* * *

**Requester:** **anythingbutgrey** **  
Fandom: **Twilight  
**Pairing:** Sam/Leah  
**Word/Situation:** some things can't be erased easily.  
**Approximate Timeline: **none

* * *

**Title: **A Hurricane Following a Summer Breeze**  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)**  
Disclaimer: **Twilight © Stephanie Meyers  
**Rating: **T **  
Summary: **(Sam/Leah)**  
Authors Notes: **Done at **pinkceptional**'s _**TWILIGHT UNCANON DRABBLE REQUEST MEME**_ at LJ

* * *

It wasn't like forgetting, really. It wasn't a restart button, or a do-over. It wasn't even something he could really explain.

Imprinting was just like a hurricane following a summer breeze. You can't fight it, or stop it, even if you wanted to. It carries you away. But it can't erase the existence of that summer breeze, or what it felt like passing over your face.

Sam never _forgot_ what it was like to love Leah. He never forgot the touch of her hands, or the feel of her lips. He never forgot what it was like to slip between her sheets, nuzzle her neck and twist his fingers in her hair. He never forgot what his name sounded like, spilling from her lips.

No, imprinting, unfortunately, didn't mean forgetting.

Oh, but he wished that it did. It might have made it easier, to be with Emily, to see Leah everyday, if he didn't still love her.


End file.
